Undermined
by That Vintage Dress
Summary: He's smiling at you, for you, your smile, and you know that you'll carry on loving him and grieving him for the rest of your life. Leah Clearwater. Heartbroken and undermined.


Disclaimer: All things twilight belong to Stephenie Meyer.

AN: I love Leah's character, but people seem to dislike how bitchy she was at the end of Eclipse. So... this is for anyone that's been heartbroken.

* * *

-

Undermined

_Leah Clearwater_

_-_

You're running in the woods and it's beautiful and fresh and exciting and you almost make that same hooting – well, if you can call a howling bark _hooting_ – noise that your brat of a little brother makes but you don't. You're far more refined like that, though sometimes, just maybe sometimes, you wish you could let go like the boys do.

You can't though. You never can, and all because you're a _girl_ and you'd like them to remember that. You make a point of it, to be girlie. Your mother frowns as Seth complains about how long you take in the bathroom and she tries to talk to you about, sees it as yet another reaction to _them_ – you can't say their names together, you won't .

He still thinks you're beautiful when everyone else turns away from your hateful, scowling face. He still thinks you're beautiful, but he thinks _she's_ beautiful more so, even with the scars, the marks of his lost control.

But still, the efforts continue. Your hair, which was always long and just there, is now carefully brushed and blow dried, curled a little, perfected. You eyes which are dark and pretty – well, pretty as _he_ used to tell you – are made bigger, outlined with black eyeliner, made sadder, so thought Seth.

_Sadder because you could now visibly map the tears she cries_, thought Seth.

And your little brother was all embarrassed when you transformed and heard that, swearing and using words and phrases that you know your mother would just _love_ to hear... but then he told you that even if he did feel sorry for you, you had to stop being such a bitch to Emily and _him_ and just get over it.

Then he'd feel bad, because your little brother does love you and he knows how much pain you went through, still go through, and he tells Jacob and the others to back off when they start their bitching, but still, you know he doesn't quite get it. Seth thinks that you'll imprint and everything will be okay but it won't, it never will.

Maybe you're being a drama queen like Paul sometimes thinks, but even so... you had dreams, plans... Emily was going to be your maid of honor, you were going to have three children... but then the old legends came true and now you had to watch your dreams lived by someone else, your cousin, your sister. And she barely had the guts to make you a _bridesmaid_.

You stop, nearing the water now, safe. You transform, leave the wild, free running wolf behind and go back to that bitter, heartbroken bitch that everyone now knows you to be. The only good thing about your human body is that the bitter, heartbroken bitch can think all the bitter, heartbroken bitchy things she wants and not provoke a violent reaction from nine or so boys... for now, at least.

Sam. You loved... love him so much. And the thing that kills you the most is how you _know_ he loves you too. You've heard it, seen it in his mind. You all have. You all know that Sam still loves you, but now it's all wrong and shadowed by his guilt and his stronger, more _magical_ love for Emily.

And the tears come. You let them roll, knowing that later the boys will see this and that that splinter in Sam's heart, the one made up of his guilt and your face, will dig deeper into him. It's perverse and maybe slightly evil, working yourself up like this just to make others feel bad, but by God, you're going to take them down with you.

There's one thought you don't quite dare to think, scared that you'll lose the last little bit of standing you have with him.

It's there, in bits and pieces that hopefully the pack will never glue together. Emily's scars, your beauty routine, the fleeting feeling of vindictive pleasure swiftly doused by the fact that you'd gladly give up your looks, something that's always trade marked you, for the scars. The scars that told everyone Emily was his. The scars you wished had.

You know he feels guilty about what he's done to you. But you know he feels even more guilty about what he did to her and you _hate_ that. You hate that – once again, ha _ha_ – she's topped you.

Briefly, looking down at the crashing waves and the dark, frightening mass that makes up the water, you wonder if thinking about suicide would be too melodramatic. Cause the boys to hate you more, lose your little brother's love and concern... when it was there, anyway.

Not that you _would_ kill yourself. You're far too much of a chicken for that. But still.

You miss your dad, hate your mother's lonely look. It's something that echoes on your own face.

And for one tiny moment, you let yourself have some much needed honesty. You hate being apart of the tribe. You hate being the first girl. You hate your beauty routine which seems so damn pointless. You hate your little brother's blindness and you hate Paul and his mean, blunt thoughts and you hate how everything has changed _so damn much_. The change, you can't stand the change and for one wild moment you think you might of found the courage to throw yourself off the cliff.

But then Sam's face, warm and loving, younger, less burdened. He's smiling at you, for you, your smile, and you know that you'll carry on loving him and grieving him for the rest of your life.


End file.
